I'm Just Trying to Save You
by Kensley-Jackson
Summary: Takes place a few weeks after 2x13. Chuck doesn't go to Thailand and Jack doesn't exist. “Glad to see you’re not dead” she bites out, because once she sees him and his haggard appearance, the desire to yell out him goes out the window. Rated T for now.
1. Chapter 1

Tonight is your lucky night, my loves. I've been working on another, non-smut (for now!) story and I think I'll try and stretch it to a short series and give you bits at a time. I can't promise frequent updates, but if there's interest, I will certainly do my best!

This takes place after Bart's death in 2x13. In this story, Jack doesn't exist. Enjoy.

* * *

**I'm Just Trying to Save You**

She was going to kill him.

Well, first she needed to find a way inside his lair…back into his life, make sure he wasn't dead already…and then she'd kill him good and proper.

In all the years she's known Chuck Bass, not **once **had she ever been denied access to suite. Sure, there were times when he was otherwise preoccupied with prostitutes or loose upperclassmen or his dad's clients…but all those times Blair made the conscious decision to just let him be and not be the cock-block she knows she has the ability to be.

But to be flat out told that she was not allowed to get past the lobby to the elevators (_per Mr. Bass' request, _the know-it-all, snob of a front-desk receptionist told her—accompanied by two, TWO security guards) was definitely a first for Blair.

So she decided to stage a protest.

Standing in the middle of the street, in the pouring rain, she would wait. She would make a fucking scene if she had too—scare away business from the hotel and start to scream his name until the cops came. Maybe the flashing lights would snap him out of his stupor. Maybe she could smoke him out of his cave.

She just had to try. _Something._

Because Chuck Bass did not get to run off on her after his father's funeral (after she told him _those words_), crash her mom's wedding and then sneak off when she was still asleep before completely fleeing the country—with no word of where the hell he was or if he was alive (and if he loved her too).

She wouldn't let him do that to herself.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

He's standing in his suite, number 1812, by the window looking out at the rain—straight out, not looking down. Not risking what he might find there.

"_Go home" _he tells her before hanging up the phone.

It was the fourteenth time she called and he couldn't bear to hear her voice, so he didn't give her a chance. He spoke the words and ended the call before he gave her a chance to change his fucking mind.

Because it was her gift, to always change what he thought he knew, what he thought he _believed _and turn it on its head—until the only thing that made an ounce of sense to him was _her_ breath on _his _face.

The front desk calls after a hostile brunette tries to get past security.

"_Should we have her escorted off the premises Mr. Bass?"_

He told them she could wait in the lobby for as long as she wanted, but he wasn't coming out.

He'd never leave his suite again if he could help it.

Not until the memory of _his _still body against the stark white sheets leaves his mind.

Not until the feel of his stupid bedazzled suit jacket scraping against Lily's skin as he grabbed her bare arms and shook the information out of her left him alone.

Not until that look of goddamn pity in his beloved's eyes dissipated and she just looked at him the way she used to—with hatred and adoration and lust but never, _never_ pity.

Forty-five minutes later, the front desk calls for a second time.

"_Sir, she's standing in the middle of the street and refuses to move."_

"Tell her to come inside. Or at least under the goddamn awning." And out of the fucking rain, because it is absolutely pouring out there.

It was so typical of her to cause a fucking scene at his hotel. And he was supposed to be the unstable one.

"_She refuses unless she can come up, Mr. Bass" the soft voice tells him "She's getting drenched out there. She's determined. You have to admire…"_

"I don't have to do anything" he says abruptly.

_Bitch, that stupid bitch. I told her to go home. I just want her to…I just want her…_

_Fuck._

"Send her up. Immediately."

He hangs up.

It's over, done with—except not, because she's on her way. _Determined. Drenched—_and not the way he prefers either—and _angry_. Oh, how she'll be angry with is how they deal with sorrow: theyfight it. But not in the healthy way with counseling and prayers. With destruction—destruction of self and of each other.

She purges over a toilet and he binges on faceless whores and poison—and somehow, they always end up back together, locked in a self-contained prison with no real plan of attack.

They know how to hurt and how to fuck but they never make progress.

But now she's on her way up and he's not sure what to expect. But it won't be pretty.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Blair's fucking pissed. She's soaked, her outfit is beyond ruined (she didn't think that far in advance) and she's absolutely freezing. To add insult to injury, with every calculated step she took down the hall to 1812, her heels made an embarrassing _squish_ _squish squish squish _noise.

"I hate you Chuck Bass" she whispers to herself "God, how I hate you."

_But I love you more. And it consumes me and it steals my sleep and my appetite and I just want to wrap my arms around you once more. _

_But you won't let me._

She knocks once. Loudly, definitive, authoritative. And then she goes back to shivering.

He opens the door almost immediately and he's holding a towel open to her.

A fucking towel.

But she's cold (teeth chattering cold) and he's just looking at her blankly, so Blair steps in and into the towel and allows him to wrap it around her. It's the closest thing they've had to a hug in a while.

"Glad to see you're not dead" she bites out, because once she sees him and his _haggard _appearance, the desire to yell out him goes out the window (and back out into the rain).

She hugs the towel tighter across her body.

"I could kill you" she says quietly, because he's still just standing in front of her in a beyond wrinkled dress shirt and pants—with disheveled hair and more scruff then the Chuck Bass she knew would ever allow.

"So do it" his voice his hoarse, most likely from lack of use.

"I can't. You're too pathetic. It wouldn't be a fair fight."

_What the hell am I doing here?_ Blair asked herself like a mantra, over and over again in her head…what the _hell_ am I doing here?

She turns around, Chuck thinks she's about to leave, but then she shuts the door behind her and dead-bolts it.

"Planning on staying then?" he asks. He goes for humor but it just comes out lonely, "For how long?"

"Until I can be sure you won't accidently kill yourself in my absence" she states, noting how necessary the word _accidently _is for her own health.

Then she hears the water running in the bathroom. She turns her head to look. _If he has a girl in here…_

"I'm drawing a bath for you" he says, answering her silent question.

"For me?" Blair asks skeptically, ignoring how inviting _warmth _sounded right about now "You need it more."

_He did. _

"I knew you'd be cold. And I don't want you suing the hotel for hypothermia, so…" he trails off.

Then he looks her in the eye.

"You don't have to."

And it's true; she doesn't _have to _do anything. She doesn't have to worry about him (to love him), to make sure he's not dead. She could just leave and never come back.

"No, I do" she says, toeing off her shoes (so he doesn't have to hear her _squish_) before walking past him towards the bathroom.

_But I will anyways. Isn't that how we work lover?_

She becomes acutely aware that he's following her and it feels a bit unnerving.

_You came here to spend time with him, remember Waldorf?_

The second she feels the steam from the bathroom, she's itching to peel the sodden fabric from her body—but modesty gets to her.

"Do I get any privacy?" she asks, turning around.

Chuck has situated himself on the toilet seat, his expression blank.

"My house, my rules" he says simply as rests his head against the wall and allows his eyes to close.

Blair interprets this gesture as an act of exhaustion and not one of respect, but regardless she takes the opportunity to strip down to her matching pale-yellow bra and panties. After deciding that she is quite naked enough for the occasion, she turns off the running faucet before quickly settling herself into the tub.

It scorched her skin a bit on contact (the water, not Chuck's gaze which is now undoubtedly on her and nowhere else) but after giving herself a few minutes to adjust to the temperature difference, she allows herself to relax and sink in further.

When she opens her eyes again, his expression is almost unreadable. She senses confusion at her presence (because she's actually there after weeks of no calls, no visits), anger (because she wouldn't leave when he ordered her to), sadness (because no one loves Chuck Bass) and fatigue (because he looks like he hasn't slept, like he can't allow himself to escape).

"What?" she asks quietly. She has no right to—she's in _his _home, using up _his _time and _his _hot water—but she just has to know what he's thinking.

"Why are you here?" he wants to know.

Blair shrugs on instinct and it's a complete cop-out of a response, but the gesture itself cases the water to ripple around her and in a way—it says more then she can formulate herself.

"The same reason you let me him, I guess."

They were never good at explanations. They were good at saying that they were doomed and that "in the future" things could be different, but it was so damn hard to say exactly _why _that was in the first place.

"I told you, I didn't want you to catch a cold" he grumbles.

"And I didn't want you to accidently overdose, same difference" she says before holding her nose and dipping herself under the water.

"When was the last time you showered?" she asks him when she resurfaced.

"Yesterday."

He doesn't skip a beat.

"Liar."

Neither does she.

"Why do you care?" he asks out of irritation, but the question itself is rooted far deeper then the present moment and would take centuries for her to explain clearly.

Because clearly _Because I love you_ was just far too complicated for him to understand.

"I feel bad for room service is all. You're starting to look like Howard Hughes. Are you planning on harvesting your urine in milk bottles anytime soon?"

The words are brave, but she feels like a coward. Deeper into the warmth she sinks.

Her feet pop out and he's transfixed on her sparkly pink toe-nails. They mock him with their joviality, their ease, their _life_.

Chuck can't remember what it feels like to be alive.

"It's on my To-Do list right after I kick Blair Waldorf out of my hotel, soaking wet and with no clothes on."

But he'd never do it. That's why he let her in in the first place—he wants her to remind him that he's alive.

As it is, he already looks half-past dead.

"Glad to see you have your priorities in check" she says as she sits up and glances at her wet clothes in a pile on the floor "I need something to wear."

She says this because she knows he's bluffing without giving the threat enough time to process. If he was going to kick her out, he never would have brought her up in the first place.

"Do you?" he talks in riddles, like the lost soul he is.

"If I'm going to save you, clothes are kind of a necessity" she says matter-of-factly.

"So that's what you're here to do? Save me?"

"That's right" she says, jutting her chin up "I won't leave until I do."

The closest thing to a smirk comes across his face—an involuntary twitch brought on by extreme disbelief that borders on humorous.

Instead of addressing her twisted mission statement, an idea flashed in his mind.

"I have something you can wear" he tells her as he stands up and leaves the room.

"What is it?" she calls after him as curiosity (and trepidation) gets the best of her.

Chuck came back a few moments later with a box from La Perla. He opened the lid and lowered the box to reveal a red silk baby-doll inside.

Blair's eyes narrowed immediately.

"I'm not wearing one of your whore's hand-me-downs" she snaps, secretly noting that apparently hookers had good taste in lingerie.

"It's not" he said firmly "It's yours."

_I don't understand._

"I don't understand" she says as she covers her chest with her arms (because it just feels necessary in this moment).

He sighs dramatically, like putting the effort into a conversation with her wasn't worth his time.

"I bought it for you before…as a Christmas gift. I never had a chance to give it to you. Obviously" he states "So you can wear it or not, I don't give a shit."

With that, he drops the box on the floor and walks out—closing the door behind him and finally granting her privacy.

It wasn't until after he left that Blair let his words sink in.

Carefully, she extracts herself out of the tub and rewraps the towel under her arms as she approaches the box like it was a UFO.

Lifting the silk up by the straps, she saw how beautiful the piece truly was. There was something incredibly intimate about it—definitely something you would not buy for a friend or even an old lover.

With dread, Blair realizes that Chuck must have drawn the same conclusion she had on the days leading up to the Snowflake Ball—that just maybe, by the time Christmas rolled around, they would have reached their "in the future" and finally be together.

But then Bart died.

And then funerals and I love you's and that's too bad and late night cuddling and cowardly letters and trips to Thailand and standing out in the fucking rain…

And then _life. _Life and death happened and they weren't together even though they probably were supposed to be.

This gift…this thoughtful, intimate gift served as a representation for a future they dreamed about and a present they were currently deprived of.

And the thought of wearing it around him made her sick to her stomach.

Spotting a bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, Blair quickly snatches the fluffy white robe and secures it over her body. Once she is completely covered, she pokes her head outside the door.

He is laying on top of his bed and staring at his ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Chuck?" she asks quietly.

He turns his head to look at her.

"Do you have something else I can wear? A spare set of pajamas…anything?"

"You don't like it" he states as a fact, turning his head back to the ceiling "I used to know you so well."

"No, it's not that" she insists, shaking her head for emphasis even though he wasn't looking at her "It just doesn't feel right—I mean, it's not appropriate under the circumstances."

"Under the circumstances" he repeats with another ghost of a smile "When did you turn into such an adult?"

Blair's not sure if it's a rhetorical question or if he's attempting an insult, so she just remains silent.

"Help yourself; you know your way around here by now—even if it's not _appropriate_ for you to do so."

Taking a deep breath, Blair pads across his bedroom barefoot and goes to his dresser. She opens the top left drawer first in order to access his ungodly number of pajama sets. For some reason, Chuck took as much pride in his variety of sleepwear as she did in her lingerie—which is weird considering how few people saw either.

Running her hands over the various silk, flannel and cashmere choices, Blair eventually decides on a flannel set decorated in blue-pinstripes. Normally, she'd protest to wearing such a fabric, but she was still trying to shake the cold from before and it's not like Chuck was in any state to comment on _her _appearance anyways.

Without saying anything, she hurries back into the bathroom and slips into the pajamas. After briefly towel-drying a majority of the moisture out of her hair, Blair faces the mirror and gives herself a pep-talk necessary to get her through the next few hours.

"You can do this Waldorf" she whispers, "He may be a mess and you may be in love with him but that's not going to stop you from applying the principles of tough love on him just like your mom did with you—and it will make him stronger."

_It has too._

After taking one last deep breath, Blair opens the door to the bathroom and walks towards his bed with a purpose.

"When was the last time you ate?" she asks.

"Food or pussy?" he asks seriously.

Blair feels herself flush.

"Food" she bites out "Asshole."

"Don't remember" Chuck admits.

Blair runs her fingers through her hair.

"It's time for you to take a shower" she tells him.

"Is that so?" he asks, not bothering to look at her.

"It is" she says again, trying her best to hold her ground "I don't care if all you do is stand underneath the running water—anything is better then your current condition, you're probably filthy."

"Fine. Will you call room service for me?" he asks.

Blair squints.

"You want to eat now?"

"Not exactly—if you insist on my showering, I was hoping Kim and Kristi could help me with some of those hard to reach places" Chuck says as he sits up and leers at her "Unless you want to volunteer?"

"You, get in there" she demands, pointing to the room behind her "I'll order _food_ for you to eat and start to clean this pig-sty up."

With great difficulty, Chuck pushes himself to his feet and waltzed over to her.

"Is this how you plan on saving me? With a shiny clean apartment and a plate of food?"

Frustrated, Blair pulls him by the collar until he was in front of the shower.

"I'm just getting started, Bass" she tells him firmly before slamming the door behind her.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

A few minutes later, Blair nearly jumps when she hears the water in the shower running—she is half-convinced that her extreme desire for him to bathe is causing her to hallucinate, but she eventually accepts the fact that he is actually doing what she asked. It was a victory—albeit a very small one, it was a victory nonetheless.

She picks up a small trashcan by his wardrobe and begins to walk around his suite, stopping to throw away any suspicious paraphernalia she could find.

For things she considers dangerous or unsanitary, she enlists in the help of a tissue or the bottom of her discarded high-heel.

Blair tries to keep her calm as she collects empty scotch, jack, and whiskey bottles off the floor and bar. She tries not to shutter as she pushes a discarded syringe into the trash bin.

She picks up a small bag of coke and a few different colored pills she found on the coffee table. Sliding them into the pocket of her pajamas (his pajamas), she makes a mental note to flush the pile once Chuck got out of the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, the water was still running and Blair starts to get concerned. It isn't that she doesn't want him in there—god knows he _needs_ to bathe—but she came here to spend time with him and not to stand in the middle of his suite with a pocket full of pills and drugs.

This wasn't going to save him. This was only killing her.

Taking a deep breath, Blair walks into the bathroom doing everything in her power to keep her eyes on the floor.

"It's just me" she announces. Who else would it be? A maid? A hooker?

"Couldn't resist taking a peek could you?" he drawls over the flow of the water.

"Not exactly" she tells him as she pulls a handful of pills out of her pocket and drops them unceremoniously into the toilet "Just detoxifying."

Before she gives him a time to respond, she opens up the bag of coke and shook the contents into the toilet bowl.

Chuck turns off the water and grabs a towel.

"Say goodbye to your easy fixes Bass" she says before flushing the toilet.

"You know I can get all that replaced within the hour, right?" he tells her as he steps out of the shower.

"I plan on cutting off all your communication to the outside world."

Blair turns to look at him.

"Even more than you already have. And that includes your dealers" she says.

Chuck stares at her, but doesn't protest. In fact, he doesn't say anything.

Blair considers this another small victory.

"I'll be in the living room. Let me know when you're dressed" she tells him before walking away (before he has a chance to tell her _no, you can't make me _or worse: _leave_.)

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

* * *

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I cannot thank you all enough for your kind words of encouragement, reviews and the 100 author/story/favorite alerts I received! It means the world to me and I hope this chapter does not disappoint. It is not as long as the first, but I'm going out of town this week and will not be able to update until after I return. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 2: Snuggling is for the Weak**

Chuck is just sort of confused by the whole situation.

Right now he's standing in a towel in the middle of his bedroom.

And he's not alone—not really. At this very moment, Blair Waldorf is out in his living room doing god-knows-what as she waits for him to get dressed.

He goes to his dresser—the same one she looked through only an hour before—and pulls out a cotton navy blue pair of pajamas he hardly ever wears and quite honestly isn't sure why he owns in the first place. The color is too muted for his normal taste, but frankly, Chuck hasn't felt very normal lately. He hasn't felt unique or special or _Because I'm Chuck Bass _since his father died.

So tonight, not-Chuck-Bass wears navy and feels somewhat satisfied with that reality.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"I ordered room service" Blair informs him the moment he walks out of his bedroom.

She's sitting on his couch with perfect posture (and covered in his flannel).

"They know it's for you, so it should already be on its way up—one of the perks of being a Bass, I suppose" she tells him, suddenly finding her nail-beds to be of particular interest.

"I sent my clothes down too, to have them cleaned and dried" she adds unnecessarily "So that's a good thing."

"Will you be leaving once your clothes are ready?" Chuck asks her.

"Nope, sorry, but from what I can see, you're still a mess" she tells him with a ghost of a smile on her face.

"It's the beard isn't it?" he comments, walking over to sit next to her—not too close, not touching, but close enough.

"Some women are into the whole facial hair thing" he tells her.

"Well on some men, it works—like on David Beckman" Blair tells him, scotching an inch closer to him, "Joaquin Phoenix however…"

"It's not _that_ bad" Chuck says, rubbing his beard with his hands "Is it?"

"I guess not. But" Blair muses, reaching out tentatively to touch his chin "it's not that _good_ either."

Chuck's face twitches underneath her touch.

"I've missed your honesty" he tells her with softened, hazy eyes.

"Then that's at least one reason to keep me around" Blair says.

A loud knock on the door shakes Blair out her stupor—causing her to withdraw her hand from his face like it was on fire.

"Food" she tells Chuck before getting up to answer the door.

Twenty seconds and a significant tip later, Blair wheeled the cart into the suit herself and placed it in front of Chuck.

She took off the two silver covers to reveal bowl of chicken soup for him and a Caesar salad for herself.

"Classy" Chuck says as he takes in the pedestrian meals she ordered for them.

"Considering the amount of damage you've no-doubt committed against your liver these past few weeks, I figured starting with something simple would be in our best interest" she tells him "Also, I heard your stomach growl earlier so don't act like you aren't starving."

"I could eat" Chuck concedes, picking up the spoon.

"Me too" Blair says as she gets started on her salad.

"Is that going to be enough for you?" he asks her, motioning to her plate.

"Of course" Blair tells him "Since when do you worry about what I eat?"

"I always worry about what you eat" he says quietly.

Blair subconsciously squeezes her fork until it digs into the palm of her hand.

"Well no need" she says, forcing a smile and shoving a big bite of salad into her mouth "See? I'm good."

Chuck looks down at his soup and scoops up a piece of chicken on his spoon before offering it to her.

"Protein" he tells her as he brings it to her mouth.

Blair stares at his offering briefly before parting her lips. She smiles around the spoon as it is pushed into her mouth because it's a bizarrely absurd gesture to be _spoon-fed_ by an emotionally unstable (well, more than normal) and bearded Chuck Bass.

"Lettuce" she tells him as she presents her fork to him before shoving it into his mouth without warning.

"Mmph" Chuck tries to protest, although he chews and shallows the food "I hate anchovies."

"I know" Blair shrugs "but it was funny to watch."

Chuck shakes his head at her, but Blair can tell he's not mad at her—not really.

They ate the rest of their food in relative silence, with only the sound of silver clinging against porcelain to keep them company.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

A little while later, Blair rolled the empty food cart back into the hallway and then found herself along with Chuck in his suite with nothing to say and nothing to do but go to sleep and figure out the rest in the morning.

"We should probably get some rest, it's been a long night" she tells him, looking around the room nervously.

"I'll take the couch, obviously" she says "I have no desire to kick you out of your own bed."

"No" Chuck says simply.

"Okay, fine, you can take the couch" Blair shrugs as she heads to his bedroom.

"No" he says again.

"Chuck…" she sighs, turning around to face him "What is it?"

"I can't sleep" he tells her.

"Sure you can" Blair says "all you have to do is lay down in the dark and close your eyes."

"No, you don't understand. I can't sleep. I haven't been able to since…since _it_ happened…except for that night with you" Chuck says "I've passed out and I've blacked out some…but it's not sleep or rest. It's just a nightmare that won't end."

Blair didn't know what to say.

"So _you_ can sleep" he tells her "and I'll sit here with my thoughts and drink whatever little alcohol you spared me."

It was Blair's turn to say no to him this time.

"No more alcohol" she tells him "Come with me."

With him trailing behind, Blair walked into Chuck's bedroom and stops in front of his newly-made bed.

"When was the last time you had a girl in here?" she asks him.

"Last week" he says, coming to stand beside her.

She shakes her head.

"When, Chuck?" she asks again.

"Last night" he concedes.

"And when was the last time your sheets were changed?"

"This morning," he tells her "believe me."

"I guess I have no choice" Blair says as she walks around to the right side (her side).

Pulling back the covers, she slides into the bed and looks at Chuck pointedly.

"Are you waiting for an invitation?" she asks him, pointing to the opposite side of the bed.

Sighing, Chuck gets into the other side and lies down.

Blair turns off the lamp besides her, cloaking them in darkness.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks her after a few moments.

"I'm tired, Chuck, it's been an exhausting day" Blair tells him, letting her head hit the pillow.

"I don't mean this…I mean, why are you here helping me?"

"Are you admitting that you need help then?" she asks him.

Chuck shakes his head.

"Fine, why are you annoying me?" he asks.

Blair suppresses a grin as she pulls the covers up to her chin.

"Everyone needs someone around to annoy them, Chuck, even Bass men. Bart had your mother and then he had Lily. And you have me whether you like it or not."

"You're not my wife" he tells her unnecessarily.

"I know that Chuck" Blair says "but that doesn't change the fact that we all need someone…even teenaged millionaires with an affinity for scotch and bowties."

"Even if we do—if we _all_ do—it doesn't explain why you chose me" Chuck says quietly.

Blair's sighs and turns towards him.

"I know what its like to not be wanted."

"Everybody wants you, Waldorf" he drawls.

"But not for keeps" Blair whispers "that's the difference."

"So you want me forever?" he asks.

_Because I love you. _

"I can't think of any other explanation as to why I won't give up on you. Does that scare you?"

"A little" Chuck tells her.

"Yeah, me too."

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Twenty minutes later, Blair is convinced Chuck had fallen asleep. She spent the past few minutes attempting to decipher whether or not his breathing had evened out.

When her curiosity finally gets the best of her, she decides to inch slowly across the mattress and get a closer look just to make sure.

Leaning over him, Blair is just about to place a hand on his chest when Chuck opens his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

Blair let out a squeak and pulled her hand back.

"I wanted to see if you were sleeping" Blair tells him.

"How could I fall asleep with you hovering over me like a stalker?"

"I'm not…ugh, you're infuriating" she says, rolling back onto her back.

"What were you doing anyways?"

"I was going to count your breaths, Dorota used to do it when I was sick" she explains.

"Too bad I'm not sick" he says.

"Debatable" she says, placing a hand on his forehead.

"What's my diagnosis?"

"Insomnia with a hint of intimacy issues" she deadpans.

"Huh, sounds about right" Chuck muses "I'm fucking exhausted."

"Me too. Got any suggestions?" she asks.

"Maybe I should try holding you—something familiar?" he asks.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea" Blair whispers.

"You can hold me" _like that night._

Blair nods.

"I can do that."

She opens her arms, just wide enough to let him in.

She hears him move in the dark; feels his head pillow itself on her chest, his arms wrap around her small waist.

Blair lets out the breath she's been holding and allows herself to relax, folding her arms around his body.

"Will you be here in the morning?" he asks her.

"_I don't know" s_he wants to say _"you left me the last time…isn't it your turn to be abandoned?"_

But she's knows deep down that her fear of losing him outweighs any desire she may have to save herself.

"I won't leave you."

Ten minutes later, they were both fast asleep.

* * *

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Hello lovers. Sorry for the wait, I decided to split this chapter up so the good news is, the next update will be much sooner since it's already half-written. Thank you to all who have expressed interest in this story, it feels good to be writing CB again. Again, on the shorter side, but stay with me--I have a plan!

* * *

Saturday Morning—A New Man

The next morning when Chuck opened his eyes, he had to blink several times before he was able to register where he was—_in his bed_ (not a couch at Victrola, not on his private jet, not next to a puddle of vomit on the bathroom floor)—and what had happened the night before (rain, Blair, showers, Blair, protein, Blair, sleep, _sleep_…) and then finally:

"Blair?" his voice is uncontrollably hoarse, but the terror he feels when his hands grope at the dead space next to him is enough for his cry to reach her from his living room.

"I'll be right there!" she calls back, not the least bit aware of his fears as she lays her dry cleaning over the back of the couch.

The night before had been too emotional for her to wake up in his arms, acting like what had happened in the past months hadn't.

"They happened" she whispers to her, brushing her fingers through her hair.

The pain and the _that's too bad_ and _the_ _note_ happened. And throwing away all that misery for one happy morning-after with Chuck wasn't going to make her job any easier.

Taking a deep big-girl breath, Blair plasters a fake smile on her face before pushing a new room service cart into his bedroom.

"I hope you're hungry" she announces cheerily, lifting the covers off to reveal a plethora of breakfast foods.

"I got a bit of everything just in case. We've got eggs over-easy, scrambled, poached and Benedict-style, pancakes with strawberries, blueberries and plain, bacon, sausage, bagels, croissants, fruit and of course coffee and OJ" she rambles.

"No waffles?" Chuck deadpans.

Blair's head whips down to the platter of food.

"Oh my god, where are the waffles?" she asks out loud "I ordered waffles!"

"I'm kidding" he tells her "just coffee. Lots and lots of coffee."

Blair looks up at him with his squinty eyes and disheveled bed-head and has to stifle a laugh.

She adds tons of cream and sugar to her coffee and leaves his black (just the way he likes it). She hands him his cup and watches with satisfaction as he eagerly gulps it down.

"So I take it you slept well?" she asks, when really she just wants to tell him _I did it, I gave you sleep. You slept._

"If feeling like you got hit with a Mac-truck means you slept well, then yes, I slept well" he tells her, "I thought you left."

This thought occurred to her briefly as she slid out of bed that morning—that maybe he'd feel the abandonment she felt when she realized a note replaced his warm, safe body. And maybe a little part of her was okay with that, with letting him know that while she wouldn't leave, she wasn't permanent either. She had some dignity left.

_Right?_

"I gave you my word" Blair tells him, coming to sit down beside him "I don't run off at the first sign of trouble like some people."

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she regrets them. She's pushing it too soon—her own misery—and has to focus on him.

"I'm sorry, that was—" she begins.

"—accurate" he interjects "It was accurate."

Finishing off his coffee, Chuck crawled to the end of the bed in front of the cart and began to poke around.

"This is a shit load of food" he tells her.

"I know" Blair laughs, a nervous reflex "but food is comforting and breakfast is your favorite…"

"It's sweet" Chuck says, taking a bite of the scrambled eggs "A bit excessive maybe, but then again, so are you."

Blair rolls her eyes playfully and shoves his shoulder with hers before locating the fruit cup she ordered for herself.

Chuck offers her a croissant wordlessly and doesn't remove his hand until she takes a bite.

Blair chews the rather large bite she takes slowly, trying for figure out which prepared egg she can eat a little of without consuming too many calories.

"Have some Eggs Benedicts" he tells her, digging into the pancakes with blueberry sauce.

_Hollandaise sauce? Are you insane?_ She wants to yell at him.

"Don't like 'em" she says.

"They used to be your favorite when we were little" he says, moving the plate of eggs in front of her.

"Yes, until Eleanor showed me the light" _and the calorie count._

"Blair, I won't go through this with you every time we eat together—I have enough issues without having to worry about yours too. You know that I think you're fucking gorgeous and if I find out your sparse eating habits vanish even a centimeter of your luscious ass off your body I'll…"

"You'll what?" she asks quietly, grinning like an idiot.

"I'll…kidnap you and chain you to a donut stand until you gain every ounce back" he tells her, offering a small smile.

"You're such a freak" she tells him, leaning just a little bit closer to him.

Chuck doesn't refute this claim and when he sees her taking one bite (then two) of the Eggs Benedict, he decides that if it takes him being a freak to get her to eat, it's worth it.

"It's been forever since we've done this" Blair says after a while.

"I know, Bart should have croaked months ago—it would have saved us a lot of that back and forth bullshit" he tries to joke.

"Chuck…" she says, putting down her fork.

It doesn't work.

"Sorry" he says, but Blair's not sure if it's directed at her, at himself, or at Bart six feet under.

"That reminds me" she tells him "I spoke to Lily this morning."

She tries to put her hand over his, but he pulls it away at the mention of _that woman_.

"I know the reading of Bart's will is tomorrow" she tries again.

"You're treading on thin ice, Waldorf, _thin _ice" he bites out, because suddenly he can't breathe. He opened the door for reality to slip into their quiet, peaceful, _perfect _breakfast and now it's becoming too much.

"And you're avoiding the inevitable, Bass. Unless you were planning on attending all along?" she asks.

"I talked to my lawyer. My presence isn't required—I'll get my inheritance either way" he says.

He can see the wheels spinning in her head and he knows she's on the verge of fighting him.

"I'm not going, so just drop it" Chuck tells her "_please_."

And if it wasn't for his quiet plea, Blair probably wouldn't have just dropped it. In fact, she knows she wouldn't of.

But he said _please._

So she listened. For now.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

A few hours later, Blair was showered and dressed in her own, newly cleaned clothes. She was on the couch, watching TV next to Chuck—still in his pajamas and still not speaking to her since she brought up Bart's will at breakfast that morning.

She turned to look at his profile. His hair was still a mess, his eyelids were slightly heavy and his normally chiseled jaw was masked by a layer of dark facial hair.

"I'm going to shave your beard" she tells him.

"Oh?" he asks, not particularly interested in her announcement.

"I'm serious Bass" she says, turning his face to look at her "I'm doing it. Now."

"I don't own an electric razor" he says.

"I know, you have a professional use a straight razor" Blair says, "I had a very sleepy Serena drop one off this morning along with shaving cream."

"C'mon" she tells him, standing up and dragging him by the hand.

"Do you even know how to use one of those? Cause they're not toys" Chuck says.

"Well I'm never _used _one per say, but I used to watch Daddy use one every morning when he was getting ready for work. Plus I've been shaving my legs since before you lost your virginity" she says, settling him down on the closed toilet seat "So, you do the math."

"Okay yeah" Chuck says, watching as Blair removes the razor, cream and applicator brush from the paper bag and places them on the sink, "But legs are different from faces. There's a lot less central arteries in your calves."

"Oh, you big baby" she says, squirting the shaving cream onto the brush and rubbing it across his face "Don't you trust me?"

"I'll let you know if I don't bleed to death in the next thirty seconds" he says quietly.

"Just, hold still" she tells him, lifting the razor and studying it for a moment.

"Hmm" she muses, tilting her head.

And then, when she can't figure out a more proper way to go about it, Blair decidedly straddles Chuck's lap.

"Tilt your head back" she instructs.

When he does so, Blair lifts the razor to his neck and slides it up against his skin slowly.

She holds her breath after the first line of hair is cut away.

"There" she whispers, washing the razor off under the running water "Nice and easy."

Chuck doesn't say anything, doesn't speak. He's too afraid to do anything but sit and hope to god he won't have to sneeze anytime soon.

Slowly, Blair worked the razor across his skin—meticulously ridding him of the beard he wanted in vain to hide behind.

But at one point, she pressed too hard and nicked his cheek.

"Ouch!" Chuck winced, pulling his head back slightly.

"Oh shit!" Blair exclaimed, grabbing a spare towel and pressing it to his face "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Its okay" he tells her, putting his hand over hers "It's just a scratch. I appreciate you avoiding my throat."

Blair laughs through her almost-tears. Almost because she knows she hurt him, but only accidently.

He smiles too—for the first time since she's arrived. Chuck Bass smiles at Blair Waldorf and their faces are so close together and suddenly, suddenly, things aren't funny anymore.

Things are suddenly serious and honest—painfully honest. And raw. As raw as the cut in his cheek, the cut she gave him.

Blair lowers her head and kisses him. She throws it all away and brushes her lips against his.

Chuck kisses her back, pressing his hand harder against hers until he is almost holding it.

And then he's pushing his tongue past her lips and Blair thinks that she might die from the pleasure of it all. And she wants more; she wants him to kill her with his touches.

And what's worse: he could do it.

If she let him.

Blair pulls back and decides that its one of the hardest things she ever has to do. Because the deep starvation she has felt for this man and this man alone for the past year has almost become unbearable.

"I'm sorry" she whispers breathlessly against his face "for your cheek."

"I'll survive" he tells her quietly, eyes still screwed shut.

Blair takes the damp cloth pressed to his face and uses it to wipe off the remainder of the shaving cream off his cheek.

"You look like a new man" she says, smiling softly as she slides off his lap.

"Thank you" he says, rubbing his smooth face with his hands.

She simply nods, like a fool, and scampers out of the room as quickly as possible.

* * *

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Promised it would be a fast update, didn't I?

* * *

Saturday Afternoon: Matched Set

Hours later (Blair wasn't keeping track of time, but it had been roughly two hours and thirty-eight minutes since _it _happened), she finds herself alone on Chuck's bed with a few text books courtesy of Dorota—who needed an excuse to come to The Palace and visit Vanya.

Chuck is in the other room, probably watching tv and trying to forget about the brunette in his suite who didn't know how to properly handle a straight razor (or kiss him without thinking. She's always thinking—how good it felt, how wrong it was under the circumstances, how she wished it never stopped…)

Just when Blair is about to decide to throw in the towel on her Biology homework and instead daydream about those afternoons when stopping was _not_ on their agenda, a clean-shaven Chuck appears in the doorway with a pack of playing cards.

"You up for a change of pace?" he asks, holding up the pack.

"Uh, sure" Blair concedes, secretly relieved for a chance to toss her books off the bed.

Chuck comes to sit on the bed across from her.

"You have a preference?" he asks "Gin? Rummy 500?"

"Texas Hold'em" Blair tells him, leaning back on the bed a bit.

He raises an eyebrow and smirks slightly, sliding the cards out of the deck and beginning to shuffle them.

"_Strip_ poker?" he suggests, raising the stakes on her—literally.

Normally she would protest to such a…Chuck suggestion. She would normally scoff at him and roll her eyes and ignore him for at least three days for being such a pervert in the first place.

But now that his beard is gone, he looks so much more like the Chuck she used to know and the smirk he gives her (the one she used to despise) warms her heart to the point that she couldn't refuse even if she wanted to.

"Am I allowed to put on socks first?" she asks, wiggling her bares toes.

"That's cheating" he tells her, shaking his head.

"Fine" Blair says, mentally evaluating that she could only shed her skinny jeans and tan sweater casually before she would find herself in a precarious position.

That means she could only lose a maximum of two rounds.

"But it will be a short game" she says.

Since Chuck was only donning a pajama top, bottom and pair of boxers, Blair was confident that she could come out victorious—especially considering how often she played this game over the summer. Her father had recently taken a liking to the game and tried in vain to get Roman to understand it so they could play together.

Not that this should surprise anyone, but Blair caught on a lot faster than the male model.

"What do you want if you win?" she asks, mentally adding the "_but you won't_."

He thinks about this for a second before answering:

"A glass of Scotch."

Blair tries to hide her disappointment that his one desire is for alcohol—she was hoping her spending time with him would assure him that he didn't need that poison in his system to be okay, but apparently not.

"Do you need that?" she asks him.

"You asked me what I wanted, not what I needed. There's a difference. I _want_ a drink" Chuck says, "What do you want if you win?"

_What do you want from me?_ Blair thinks she hears in the subtext—which is ludicrous because Chuck would never ask such a high stakes question, not even when it comes to strip poker.

_For you to attend the reading of your father's will with me._

"For you come with me to feed the ducks in Central Park" she tells him.

Chuck hesitates for a moment, most likely because he knows she could have used the opportunity to ask for a lot of things—things that were a lot more important than stale bread and quacking ducks—but for some reason, she chose not to.

It helps him relax a little.

"Deal" he says, as he begins to deal out the cards.

"You are so going down, Bass" she sighs comfortably.

Chuck laughs.

"So cocky, Waldorf. Do you even know how to play poker?" he asks.

"I have a…working knowledge of the game" she tells him.

"Alright, your death wish" Chuck says.

It's awkward that he says this—its one of those phrases that you throw around casually all the time and it never means anything until something like a car hits the father of your not-boyfriend on the night of the Snowflake Ball and then it means everything.

Blair thinks about the pills and the bottles and the drugs and syringes and how it makes her think that the boy she loves might _have_ a death wish.

"Just deal the cards" she says.

_Just stop me from thinking._

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Blair's first hand is absolute shit. Like really, there is nothing for her to work off of. The anticipation of seeing Chuck smirk as she no doubt will have to shed an article of clothing at the end of this round pisses her off more than she thought (because she's _beat _Daddy before).

But then she decides that this bad hand can actually work in her favor.

"I fold" she declares, putting the cards face down before pulling her sweater over her head.

Chuck's eyes went right to her chest.

_Bingo._

"That didn't take long" he says, ogling her like a boy named Chuck Bass used to.

"Bad hand, it wasn't worth playing" she tells him simply, shrugging her shoulders and making her chest wiggle just the tiniest bit.

Chuck glances up at her.

"You know the point of this game is to keep your clothes on, right?" he asks.

"I thought it was to distract the opposition" she smiles.

His eyes fall down to her chest once more before he settles on her face.

"Touché" he says before collecting the cards and shuffling once more.

Blair decides that she may have the upper-hand after all.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Much to Chuck's dismay, Blair won the next two rounds. At first he thought the grin she flashed him upon seeing her cards was a mislead, but when she produced two jacks which successful trumped his one ace, he had to forfeit over his pajama top.

Next, he thought he had her beat with a three-of-a-kind, but out of nowhere she threw down a flush and clapped her hands when she realized she beat him again.

So now all of the sudden, Chuck is down to a pair of boxers and Blair is still sitting comfortably in her bra and jeans.

"Huh" he says, scratching his head "maybe I should have thrown on a pair of socks."

"That's called cheating, Bass. Don't get grouchy because I'm one away; some clean air will be good for you."

The prospect of being outside is suddenly a little terrifying to Chuck and he is now more ready than ever to win the next hand.

"Sorry Waldorf, but at the moment I'm more concerned with whether or not you're hiding a matched set underneath those jeans" he tells her.

Blair scrunches her nose together (as if she expected him to say anything less). Of course she was matching, she's Blair Waldorf.

The next round concerns her a bit, because what seems like nothing turns out to be a two-pair, which is good but not great. The flop contains two queens and Blair doesn't have the other two—if Chuck had even one queen in his hand, he'd have her beat (and her pants off).

She puts her cards down first, confidently, so he doesn't see her nerves.

Chuck smirks as he reveals two queens in his hand.

"Four of a kind" he tells her "Lose the jeans."

Blair scowls at him because they call them "skinny jeans" for a reason and it's a lot harder to manipulate ones' self out of them than one would think (especially while sitting on a bed with an ex-not-boyfriend who one happens to be in love with.)

"Help?" she asks, lifting her feet up so he can grab a hold of the boot cuffs.

It's almost comical for him to be helping Blair Waldorf take off her pants without any immediate plans of making a move. He tugs at the bottoms while she shimmies as lady-like as anyone could in her current position until the suffocating material lands in a heap on the floor.

"So predictable" he says when her panties are revealed to match her powder pink bra, when really all he's thinking is _"you're beautiful." _

Being predictable isn't exactly the type of reaction Blair likes to illicit in Chuck—especially when she considering how much time it takes her to pick out each piece of lingerie she owns (that she must mentally deem "Bass-approved" or "Not Bass-approved" upon purchasing).

But even though he says she's predictable in that moment when she sits across from him in nothing but her underwear, legs daintily tucked behind her, the two of them both know that this image of Blair is not what any run-of-the-mill stranger, classmate or acquaintance would _ever _predict to find in someone like her; so the fact that Chuck knows enough about her like this—intimately—makes it okay for him to call her predictable.

Because he knows things about her no one else in this world knows. And that makes her anything but ordinary in their eyes and in their eyes alone.

"I live a simple life" she tells him with a shrug.

_No one knows about the fire but you._

He smiles at her, at understanding the punch-line of the joke she never says out loud—because they're sitting together nearly nude and playing cards and it should be the most brutally awkward moment of their weekend, but somehow it feels safe and comforting.

Chuck picks up the cards and shuffles them quickly once again like a seasoned-pro, before dealing them out.

"You are so going down" she sing-songs again as she looks at her cards.

"You're bluffing" he tells her, because why else would she say that out loud?

"Believe whatever you want" Blair says.

And even though he's convinced she _is _bluffing, he also realizes that he's down to a pair of boxers and if he doesn't win, he's shit out of luck and his scotch is on the line. His one ace seems to be his best bet at the moment, which wasn't say much.

But then something spectacular happens on the flop and he gets another ace—creating a high pair. Now the only thing standing in his way is…

Blair laughs and he looks up at her.

"What?" he asks.

"You look like you're concentrating so hard" she says with a grin "your competitive side is endearing."

At that moment Chuck realizes while he would love a glass of scotch at that moment, nothing elated him more than seeing this girl smile and knowing he was the cause of it. Alcohol numbed the pain, but Blair filled the void he always knew existed, but never complained about because he never knew anything different_ from_ the pain. Until that night.

Until her.

She plops her two cards face up. A king and a three of clubs.

"All I have is a king" she says soberly, anticipating her own loss.

Chuck looks down at his ace and the one on the bed in front of him once more before placing his cards face down.

"I got squat" he says "congrats, you have what every woman in the world wants—me naked."

He hooks his thumbs beneath the waist-band of his boxers without any real intention of taking them off.

"Thanks but no thanks" Blair says, getting off the bed and retrieving her clothes "your submission of power is all the reward I need. Now put some clothes on, the ducks will not be kept waiting."

"Now?" he asks, his mind suddenly spinning. He forgot about the outside aspect to Blair's victory.

"Yes" she says, struggling back into her pants and sweater "no time like the present."

Ten minutes later Blair is practically skipping down the hallway of The Palace on her way to the elevator. After only one day, she was already succeeding in getting Chuck to smile, act more like Chuck and now she was getting him out of his suite for the first time in weeks.

"Let's go Bass" she calls over her shoulder to the boy who is walking significantly slower behind her.

By the time he reaches her, the elevator doors are already opening and she steps inside.

"C'mon" she says when he doesn't move.

Chuck doesn't say anything.

The doors start to close and Blair holds her hand out so they reopen.

"Chuck, what are you waiting for?" she asks as she pressed the "door open" button down.

"I…" he begins, suddenly looking very dejected as he shakes his head "Blair I…"

Blair's smile fades when she realizes what he's trying to say.

_I can't. _

Nodding, she steps out of the elevator and takes his hand before walking back towards his suite.

"What about the ducks?" he asks quietly, squeezing her hand tighter.

"The ducks can wait" she tells him "Besides, I like you better."

"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me" he says as they walk back into his suite.

Blair doesn't respond, she doesn't need to.

They both know that that statement wasn't true.

_I will stand by you through anything. Because I love you._

_

* * *

  
_

TBC.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Sorry for the long wait. My work load is colossal and will only get worse over the next few weeks. So please bear with me as I finish out this school year. Thank you again for all of the kind words of encouragement, they continue to inspire me each and every day!

Also, this chapter shifts in Mature territory towards the end, so beware if it's not your thing.

* * *

Saturday Night: A Helping Hand

After making a later afternoon meal out of the various leftover croissants, cold pancakes and fruit that never made it out of the suite, Chuck and Blair filled the rest of their daylight hours stretched out on his bed and watching movies.

Blair could only handle about twenty minutes of _The Matrix _before she insisted that they switch over to _When Harry Met Sally_—much to Chuck's chagrin. He tried to bite his tongue on the matter since it was Blair's victory afternoon with the ducks that he unintentionally sabotaged with his cowardice, but grieving man could only take so much Meg Ryan.

Finally, after much more torturous channel surfing, the unlikely duo decided on _The Usual Suspects _on AMC. Chuck was always a fan of a good gangster film and Blair was content on the fact that Keanu Reeves wasn't the star. Plus, as she pointed out, Daddy loves Kevin Spacey.

"Who wouldn't? Spacey's the man" Chuck concludes, tossing the remote control to the foot of the bed before getting resettled against the pillows they propped up.

It's not far into the film before Chuck notices how painfully and precariously close Blair's hand, palm up, is resting by his own—almost as if she had placed it there under the assumption that holding hands is something they do all the time.

It isn't.

It is only in those rare and often brutally raw moments that they experience together in which hand holding is not just a trivial novelty, but rather, a necessity for the two of them.

Chuck can only remember brief flashes of their fingers interlocking—like when he pinned Blair's arms above her head on afternoon as they fooled around on her bed fully clothed. What started as an innocent act in an attempt to introduce her to submission play turned into something very serious and nearly deadly once Nate had left her penthouse. The frustration he felt for Blair rejecting him for the boy who broke her twice made something inside him snap.

When Blair returned, their clothes came off and his grip on her hands, _holding _her hands wasn't a game anymore. A small part of him was concerned that the force he was using was too much and that Blair would be frightened by that side of him. But the more pain he inflicted, the more thrashing of her head and cries of pleasures she gave him. The more intense she shook, the more powerful she came…

But then there were another times, like the night in her bedroom when she held his hands in her small ones so firmly, yet so gently that he knew with certainty that she loved him for the very first time. He was safe, he was loved.

Even now, weeks later after her confession, Chuck is still having trouble coming to grips with what she said. Sure, he had pressured her to say it—to _love _him, but the idea of love itself had always been so foreign for him that he wasn't even sure what it would feel like.

And it was…simply terrifying.

It was one of the main reasons he left—not the only reason, god knows, but a big one. But at the same time, it was the promise of her love that eventually brought him back to Manhattan. It was the _only_ reason he came back, the only reason he rescued her from the rain and brought her inside.

The fear of feelings, of dealing with his reality and the love he felt for Blair was a powerful motivation to run away and never return.

But the fear of losing her, of losing everything was somehow stronger.

And so with that thought, Chuck lifts his hand and slides it into hers.

Blair's fingers instinctively separate to provide room for his fingers to interlock with hers.

She suppresses a smile from her place beside him. Her fingers curl up around his hand as if to say _gotchya. _

A few minutes later, Chuck shifts just enough so that his head is pressing against the side of Blair's shoulder.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"I think I know who did it" Blair says out loud, a little over half way through the film.

When Chuck doesn't respond, she turns to look and finds that he had fallen asleep.

Blair smiles to herself as she pushes his dark hair off his forehead gently. After running her fingers though his hair a few more times, she leans over and kisses his hairline. And then the arch of his brow.

And finally his jaw.

Blair was in constant worship of his jaw. It was her dirty little secret. Everyone had a kink, whether they wanted to own up to it or not. Chuck's was the nape of her neck. Hers happened to be his jaw bones.

She traced the definition of his jaw with the tip of her finger, over and over again until he began to stir.

"What are you doing?" he grumbles, snuggling closer against her body.

"Nothing" she says, moving her hand back through his hair.

"That feels good" he tells her.

He's still holding her hand and he finds the pad of his thumb rubbing across her skin.

"Did you enjoy your nap?" she asks.

Chuck smiles sleepily, eyes still closed and nods.

"Mmm, I like sleep. I missed sleep."

"Well I'm glad you found it" she tells him "And in a few hours, you're free to sleep all you want."

"What time is it?" he asks.

"Five past seven" Blair says "too early for sleep but not for food."

He nods against her arm.

"I could eat" he says. He stretches out a bit before finally sitting up.

"I'll call room service" she says before reaching the phone.

"No, allow me tonight" Chuck says, leaning over her and picking it up.

Blair squeaks as he semi-rolls on top of her, pressing chest to chest.

"Shh" he scolds playfully, the phone pressed to his ear.

From her place beneath him, Blair finds her arms wrapped around him and rubbing his back gently.

She also finds herself smiling, unabashedly, up at the man she loves.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

A knock at the door thirty minutes later sends Chuck out of the bedroom and to the door.

"Want to eat out here?" he asks over his shoulder.

"Sure, I'll be right there" Blair says when she spots the deck of cards they used earlier in disarray spread out on the bed.

Crawling over to the foot of the bed, Blair begins to collect the cards. That's when she spots the two face-down cards that Chuck folded on earlier. Curiosity getting the best of her, Blair flips the cards over to reveal an ace.

She scrunches her eyebrows together and looks down at the flop she was currently kneeling on.

_He had two aces. _

Picking the two cards up, Blair hops off the bed and walks into the living room.

"Dinner is served" Chuck announces, lifting the covers off the plates to reveal lobster and fettuccini alfredo. No soup and salad tonight.

But instead of going to sit down beside him, Blair walks over to the mini-bar and took out the single bottle of scotch she stored in the cupboard beneath it.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

After pouring herself a drink, Blair brings it over to him and places it on the tray, along with the cards.

"You cheated" she scolds, only half serious.

"It's not cheating if you lose on purpose" he tells her.

"Why did you do it? You said you wanted a scotch" she says "and you hate ducks."

"Yeah" Chuck agrees, picking up the glass and swirling the brown liquid around "but you don't."

He brings the glass to his nose and inhales deeply.

"I figured after everything you've done for me, it was the least I could do" he says, standing up with glass in hand.

"And while I like scotch" he says, arriving at the sink behind the bar "I like you better."

With that, he dumps the alcohol down the drain. When he walks back over to the couch and sits next to Blair, she surprises him by firmly kissing him on the cheek.

"Was that for the scotch or letting you win?" he asks, picking up his fork.

"Both" she smiles.

"What would I have gotten if we actually made it outside The Palace today?" he asks.

"That's for me to know" she smiles, pretending to zip her mouth closed.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"God this is good" Blair exclaims after helping herself another forkful of fettuccini, "so fattening, but so good."

"Calories don't exist in The Palace" Chuck says, offering her a small bite of lobster with his fork.

Blair looks at him skeptically as she opens her mouth and accepts the food.

"Jeez Chuck, butter much?" she asks.

"It's the only way to eat lobster" he tells her, dousing another piece in the cup of melted butter.

"I'm convinced you are trying to fatten me up, I just don't know your motivations" she says.

"It's _food_, Blair. The stuff that keeps us from being dead" he says "Life is too short to starve yourself on mixed greens and tofu."

"I guess" she agrees, subconsciously rubbing a hand across her stomach.

Chuck pretends he doesn't see the gesture, although it drives him crazy.

"So" he begins, looking to change the subject "Did you have a good Christmas?"

Blair laughs humorously.

"Are you being facetious?" she asks.

"No…you love the holidays" he says.

"Usually, yes. But between you skipping town and my mother getting married…let's just say it was lonely" she tells him.

"You spent Christmas alone?" Chuck asks, suddenly feeling very disappointed in himself, "I find it hard to believe that no one was concerned about you."

"Well let's see, Eleanor and Cyrus thought I was staying with the van der Woodsens. Serena, who has been Buenos Aires-bound since the night you left, thought I was vacationing with the Archibald's in the Hamptons. Nate thought I was going to France to be with Daddy and Roman—who consequently figured both Serena and Nate would be around to keep me company. So I spent Christmas playing third wheel to Dorota and Vanya's budding love affair and New Years submerged in a bubble bath downing champagne flutes and blasting Cyndi Lauper's greatest hits" she recalls before taking another bite of pasta.

"Why did everyone think you were some place else?" Chuck asks.

"Because I lied. Because I didn't need a pity party; I needed the alone time. Plus…" she trails off.

"Plus what?"

"I wanted to be here for when you came back. From wherever it was you were" she looks at him pensively for a moment, "Where were you, by the way?"

Chuck shakes his head.

"Where wasn't I?" Chuck asks, shaking his head with disgust.

_Home,_ Blair wants to tell him, _with me._

"From what I can remember, it was around the world in under a week. Prague, Singapore, Russia, Morocco, Jersey…"

"Eww really?" she asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Long story, let us never speak of it again" he says "And then after really even more fucked up, I stumbled back to Manhattan, locked myself in my suite, and here we are a month later."

"Here we are" Blair agrees, scooting close to him a few inches.

"Ready for desert?" he asks, trying to ease the mood.

"If you are referring to the…" she sniffs the air dramatically "…_seven _layer chocolate cake you've been hiding under that last platter, then yes."

Chuck smiles down at her, lifting the cover to reveal the precise desert she predicted…although to her credit, he never made any mystery about it being his favorite.

He offered her a fork before picking up his own. In between slow bites, Chuck finds himself stealing glances at the girl next to him—stealthily, because if Blair knew the full extend—how very _into _he was watching her eat desert, she would probably get self-conscious and stop eating all together.

It wasn't something he ever knew about himself—he just assumed that he had a _Blair _fetish, one that required him loving just about everything she said and did. But there was something in particular about watching her get down to business with something sweet that turned him on like little else.

It had to have been her innocence, or at least her perceived innocence (since Chuck knows very well how _not _innocent she turned out to be) all those years ago when she was dating Nate that made him realize how hot she was with food. Like the time in the middle of the summer when the three of them got ice cream cones from a truck (Nate's idea, obviously) and Chuck couldn't tear his eyes away from Blair—more specifically, her tongue and how it connected with the white concoction over and over again.

She did catch him once, maybe it was that time, and called him out on being a perv (duh). So from that point on, he had to be carefully with _how_ he watched her so she wouldn't see him transfixed on the way her lips wrapped around the fork and slid over the piece of cake. Or how she licked her lips and made a little "mmh" sound she hoped he wouldn't hear.

But he does hear it, and it's pretty much the only thing he can think of. Not how he hurt her, not how he ran away and abandoned her, not why she's here and doesn't want to leave…

But mostly, he's thinking that he wants to kiss her again. Because it's all good and well that they're acting like nothing happened six odd hours ago in the bathroom, but it did…and it was spectacular.

Chuck hasn't exactly been starved for human contact since he locked himself up in his suite and threw away the key-card. Some might think he was, when really he had all the contact he needed.

He had women, women he paid for, come into his bed and touch him. They put their hands on his body, guided his hands across and inside their own bodies, caressed him, licked him, sucked him, laid him back and let him fuck them.

But they didn't kiss him. Maybe it was because he would push their filthy mouths away when they got too close or maybe it was because his breath reeked of pot and whiskey and the whores couldn't bring themselves to even try. Whatever the reason, it _had _been a very long time since Chuck Bass had been kissed.

He replayed the way Blair melted against him in his mind, over and over again, as well as how thankful he was that he didn't forgot _how_ to make her melt. It was one of the only things he was really good at and it would have been a shame to somehow forget.

Blair smiles at him shyly when she notices the amused look on his face.

"What?"

He wants to do it again.

"Nothing" he tells her.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

An hour later, Blair takes her flannel pajamas into the bathroom to change. She is just about to get undressed when she notices the gift her gave her, still on the floor from where he had dropped it the previous night.

Hesitantly, she lifts the red teddy out of the box and holds it to her. The next thing she knows, Blair is removing her clothes and slides the slip on—flannel forgotten.

_I just want to see if it fits_ she reasons with herself.

A second later, there's a knock on the door and Blair finds herself turning to open it without thinking.

"Oh" Chuck says, obviously surprised.

"Oh!" Blair exclaims, realizing what she is wearing. She attempts to cover the thin material over her chest. "I'm sorry."

"I'm…not" Chuck smirks "sorry."

Blair laughs off the embarrassment.

"I just, it looked lonely in the box…"

"And gifts like that are meant to be worn" he finishes, scanning her body "especially this gift and especially on you."

"Okay, please stop complementing me" Blair begs, feeling herself blush.

"Fine" Chuck concedes "mind if I get in there?"

"Oh, no, not at all" she says, awkwardly bending over to collect her discarded clothes without flashing him and walking out of the bathroom.

By the time Chuck is finished washing up, Blair is already tucked in bed up to her shoulders, faking being asleep.

"I know you're awake" he tells her as he slides into bed next to her.

"I was going to scare you" Blair tells him, opening her eyes.

"You could never scare me Waldorf" he says.

_Because I love you. _

He feels a shiver go through him.

"Are you cold?" she asks, rubbing her hand on his arm.

"No, I'm perfect" he says, taking her hand in his. He brings her knuckles to his lips and kisses them softly. "Night."

"Night" she whispers as he shuts off the light.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

In the middle of the night, Blair unconsciously becomes aware of a painful ache between her legs.

In her dream, her and Chuck are reenacting their kiss in the bathroom—only this time, neither is wearing clothes and the toilet they are sitting on suddenly becomes a bed. The shaving cream becomes _whipped_ cream and this time, Blair doesn't plan on pulling back anytime soon.

She's on top and she's riding him for all he's worth.

"_Chuck_"she moans.

"Blair?"

Her eyes shoot open so fast she can't process where she is, only that she's in a pitch black room and someone is shaking her awake.

"Yeah?" she whispers.

"Are you okay?" he whispers back.

_Chuck._

_Oh god._

"I was dreaming."

Blair suddenly remembers with perfect clarity what (and who) her dream-self was doing and it brings every source of tension she feels right down to her swollen core.

"You said my name" he tells her.

At that moment Blair is so mortified that she didn't say his name, but _moaned_ it, that her first instinct is to run to the bathroom and take care of her need (and humiliation) in private.

"I'll be right back" she whispers, attempting to slide out of bed.

But Chuck's there with his strong arms, pulling her towards him. Instead of saying something, he brings his palm to her cheek, no doubt feeling how badly her face was burning.

"You were dreaming about me" he says.

"No" she whispers as he brings his hand to her waist.

"Blair, let me do this for you" Chuck whispers.

"I can't" she denies every pulsing throb she feels.

"Please, you've done so much for me. Let me do this for you" he repeats, almost begging.

"I…o, okay" she whispers, nodding though he can't see it.

_Take me now. _

Without pretense, Chuck moves his hand past the end of the teddy and to her satin underwear. He cups her long enough to feel her dampness, her heat, before going underneath the material and fingering her.

"Ohh" Blair gasps, almost surging off the bed. She grabs onto his forearm with both hands, feeling her nails trying to dig right through his pajamas as she holds him to her.

"Shh" he whispers, pulling out before inserting two fingers deeply.

Blair hikes a leg over his hip, granting him better access as she rides his hand slowly.

She cries out again when his thumb brushes over her swollen clit.

"Please" she begs, because this feels so much better than her dream but the arousal is almost causing her to see spots and she needs her release.

She's right on the cusp and he knows it too. He knows what she needs.

"Blair" he rasps deep in his throat.

"Ahhh" Blair cries out, gripping his arm painfully as her hips surge up against his hand.

Chuck continues to rub her softly as she comes down from orgasm.

Blair has to force herself to release her grip on him as she rolls onto her back, completely spent.

This time, it's Chuck who moves to get up.

"I'll be right back" he tells her, kissing her temple.

"Wait, I can…" she whispers, reaching for him.

"It's okay, just go to sleep" he says, slipping into the bathroom before she can protest.

In her post-orgasm haze, Blair can hear Chuck working to get himself off behind the closed door. She desperately wants to get up to help him, but the pleasure he gave her left her almost paralyzed. Instead, she lays there and tries to get her heart-rate to go back to normal.

The last thought she has before she falls asleep is that none of this would have happened if she had worn the flannel.

TBC.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Safe to say you're all happy she didn't wear the flannel? :)

**Sunday Morning--The Wake-Up Call**

Blair wakes up early that morning; she can't see the clock but she knows it's long before she's supposed to get up. She can hear the sound of rain pitter-pattering against the windows and it just makes her sink deeper into the covers.

As she slowly takes in her surroundings she realizes that she's still with Chuck—her head is pillowed in the place where his shoulder meets his chest—and just like that the memories of the night before come flooding back to her.

Had this happened at any other time in their relationship, Blair would have shot out of the hotel room like a bat out of hell before Chuck had time to register what happened. But for some reason, even though they weren't together, Blair felt safer with him now than she ever had before. The embarrassment she felt last night over the deep, deep desire that possessed her body and her dreams—no longer felt relevant.

The way he took care of her, the selfless, _lov_—sweet way he gave her exactly what she needed without asking for anything in return filled Blair with a warmth and security she hasn't felt since long before she woke up to a note telling her don't write, don't call, don't come looking.

'Cause she deserved better, whatever that meant.

Sighing softly, Blair moved a lazy hand across the fabric stretched across Chuck's chest. She let her hand stall over the place where his steady heart beat resided and rubbed it gently—as if her single touch could have repaired all the damage his heart ever suffered.

Blair then lifted her head just high enough to watch his peaceful face. She could spend hours every day just watching him sleep, tracing the contours of his face—the angles, the lines…

_What could be _better_ than this?_

It was killing her to not touch him the way she knew how to. The way she _wanted _to. It had been so long for her, so long since she's been intimate with a man (with _the_ man she _loves_) and last night had simply not been enough. For either of them. Chuck knew it, she knew it, and the persistent ache between her legs? It knew it too.

_I fucking love you._

She wants to whisper it into his ear, wants to shout it off the roof-top, wants to scream it the moment he comes inside her…

Instead she leans in and kisses his beautiful jaw once, then twice. Her hand, seemingly with a mind of its own, travels down his chest, past his stomach, all the way _down_ until she's cupping him through his pajama bottoms.

And then her lips are closing around the skin stretched across his jaw bone. She sucks the skin, before adding her teeth and nibbling gently.

As she moves her hand over his confined length, she can feel him growing against her.

She brings her hand up under his shirt and rubs the hair spread out across his stomach, coaxing him to wake.

It doesn't take long before she feels Chuck's body begin to stir next to her. His eyes are already clouded over in desire when he opens them. Instantly, the innocence she saw in his sleeping form is transformed and all that's left is the man that wants _her. _

Blair bites down on her lip, both unsure of what to do next and completely compelled to continue what she started. She knows he wants it too—but he won't ask. That's just who he is with her.

So instead, she finds herself nodding—giving herself permission to go on while simultaneously letting him know that she was ready, that she needs this too.

Reaching down past the waistband of his pants, Blair cups her small hand around his shaft and begins to stroke him. She can feel her body reacting against his as their breathing becomes more labored. Heavy. Heady.

Moments later it's too much for Chuck, he rolls on top of Blair—dragging the comforter with him until it's covering the two of them completely. Like kids under a homemade fort. Two souls buried in a cocoon, fluttering.

Blair fuses their mouths together, releasing him in order to wrap her arms around his neck and hold him close. She tries to muffle every sigh and moan she feels in the back of her throat, but instead it flows out of her with every caress and stroke against her.

Chuck grips her thighs and hikes them around his waist as he settles himself in between her legs.

_Home. _

The red teddy Blair is wearing pools around her stomach; she gasps against Chuck's mouth as he tears away the scrap of lace she calls panties before pulling her slips over her head.

Not to be outdone, Blair begins to rip at the buttons of his pajama top, desperate to feel his skin against hers. Once his shirt is off, she tugs his pants and boxers down until he's completely nude—a rare state for Chuck Bass to be in, even in the shower.

Her body relaxes then, at the feel of her naked skin against his, and he slides inside of her. No teasing, no build-up, just the reintroduction of a once too-familiar embrace.

Chuck and Blair watch each other thoughtfully through darkened, half-open eyes as they move together under the sheets. Coherent words fail them both as their slow, messy love making consumes their entire beings.

Before this moment, things didn't make sense for Chuck—not since Bart passed. He could try to accept Blair's being there and her attempts to get close to him again, but until he was inside of her again, he couldn't truly comprehend what it meant.

But this now—her face scrunched up in pleasure, her cheeks flushed, her hair-line damp, her breath hitting his face in short, desperate pants…_this _made sense. Hell it was the only thing in the world that ever made sense to Chuck…the only thing that ever felt _right. _

He bends over and kisses her open mouth, kisses every inch of her face—even the spots that don't make sense, that don't have meaning…he _gives _them meaning because he _matters _to her and that makes her the most precious thing in the world.

Blair feels his lips on her face and it feels so much like love (like what she always imagined it to be, what she always knew love could feel like when it was right) that part of her just wants to roll up in a ball and cry for a year because she just can't comprehend what they are (and aren't) anymore.

To her, he's everything. Everything—as in, there is no part of her that exists outside of him—and that is fucking scary. She was a zombie in his absence; a walking nightmare that served as a constant reminder her of what she lacked.

_Property of Chuck Bass _should have been tattooed on her forehead, that's how pathetic she was.

But in moments like these where she is all-consumed by him, when she's wrapped around him so tightly she can feel her heels forming bruises on his lower back, her pride no longer exists. She gave up the notion of pride long ago in order to give herself over to Chuck the way she is now.

It may not be politically correct, but neither is loving someone by the name of Chuck Bass.

"I love you" she slurs together in muffled sigh.

When she feels Chuck still above her temporarily, she wastes no time before she arches up against him—urging him to not stop. He didn't have to say it back, but he couldn't stop either.

She leans up and bites his shoulder hard, causing him to explode inside of her moments later. He returns the favor with a final thrust of his hips that sends a gasping Blair clenching around him violently.

The second he rolls off her, Blair pulls the covers back to get some air. Immediately feeling self-conscious that she said _it_ a second time (and doesn't hear it back, a second time), she rolls onto her side facing away from him. She focuses on trying to catch her breath and not crying.

"What's wrong?" he rasps, fingertips touching her spine.

Blair shakes her head. Whether she's denying that something is wrong or is just decidedly not talking about it, he can't tell.

Pulling on her shoulder gently, Chuck forces her to roll onto her back and look at him.

He cups her face in his hand and stares at her intently as if he was trying to read her mind.

When she won't break, he leans in and kisses her deeply. He pulls back only to wrap his arms around her and pull her body against him.

Blair presses her face into his chest, breathing in his scent and trying to forget about the rest.

"Thank you" he says into her hair.

"For what?" she asks, smoothing her hand down his chest hair.

"The wake-up call."

Blair almost laughs at this, because she assumes he's referring to what just went down between them and not her showing up to his suite in the first place.

"You're welcome, though I will admit my actions were not entirely selfless" she grins, biting his nipple for good measure "Just like ridding a bike."

"Oww, watch it woman" he scolds playfully "those are sensitive."

"You're such a girl sometimes" she tells him, lifting her head to look at him.

"I think we both know that's not true" Chuck says as he reaches down to squeeze her bottom.

Blair blushes, despite the intimate encounter they just shared.

"You're all sweaty" she says, brushing his damp hair off his forehead.

"Hate to break it to you, Waldorf, but so are you" he tells her.

Blair makes a face as if she wasn't aware of this fact.

"I'm gonna go take a shower" she says.

"Was there an invitation in that statement?" he asks as she slides out bed still wrapped in a sheet.

"Only if you promise to order breakfast first" she smiles over her shoulder before sauntering into the bathroom.

Chuck watches completely enthralled as Blair lets go out the sheet and finishes her short walk in the nude.

Biting his lip, he rolls over and picks up the phone.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Several minutes later, Blair is standing under the hot spray of water with her eyes closed. She hums contently as the water hits her face, before resting her head against the wall—still not awake enough to stand on her own accord.

"Are you falling asleep on me?" Chuck asks as he steps into the shower.

"You wore me out" she shrugs, lifting her hands to rest them on his shoulders.

"If I'm not mistaken" he drawls, making a point of scanning her naked body slowly "you were the one who initiated this morning."

"Are you sorry I did?" she asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh, very. I'm positively heartbroken over it—can't you tell?" he asks, dramatically jutting his bottom lip out.

She nods.

"It's written all over your face" she tells him.

Blair leans in and kisses him slowly, sliding her tongue into his mouth. When things begin to heat up once again, she forces herself to pull back.

Chuck makes a sound of protest, tugging her towards him by the waist.

"We're supposed to be getting _clean_" she reminds him.

"_Clean_ is overrated" Chuck tells her "Besides, you're in a shower with Chuck Bass…what did you expect?"

Instead of answering, Blair leans over and picks up the shampoo bottle. She presents it to him expectantly.

"Fine" he sighs dramatically, taking the bottle from her and squirting a liberal amount into his palm.

Blair smiles at him before grabbing a loofah and body wash. She lathers up the puff before rubbing it across Chuck's chest and arms.

She takes her time. She loves his body…everything about it. The parts that were hard, the parts that were soft, the places that could have been toner. Every single bit of him; he was perfect.

While she's busy washing his body, he applies the shampoo to her wet hair and begins to work it in with his fingers. The action should strike him as odd (he has certainly never done _this _before), but Blair looks so serene and he never passes up the opportunity to touch her hair, so he decides to play along with her.

"You're good at this" she tells him, switching places so that he's under the spray of the water. She helps guide the water over his body and watches as the suds slide down into the drain.

"Have you done this before?" she questions only half seriously.

They switch again so Blair can rinse her hair out. When her eyes are closed, Chuck leans in and kisses her eyelids, nose and lips.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Blair opens her eyes and smiles at him.

"See" she says, leaning up to kiss him again "I told you clean can be fun."

"You paint a convincing argument" he tells her "but I still prefer being dirty."

"Fine, but humor me this one time. I still have to wash your hair" Blair says "and you need to help me with my hard to reach places."

She passes him the loofah.

"I think I can manage that" Chuck says with a smirk.

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Twenty minutes later Blair is toweling herself off when Chuck calls out to her that breakfast is ready.

Securing the fluffy white towel around her body, she follows the smell of food and walks back into his bedroom.

"Wait" a bare-chested Chuck stops her before she get's into bed, "if you want to eat my food, you have to abide by my strict dress code: no clothes allowed."

"This is a towel" she says, pointing to it unnecessarily.

"No fabric of any kind that obstructs _my_ view from _your_ nudity then. Towels included" he tells her.

"Fine" Blair says, rolling her eyes dramatically as she drops the towel and climbs into bed.

Chuck smiles genuinely at her as he passes her a cup of coffee.

"I have a feeling today is going to be a great day" he tells her.

Blair leans over and kisses him, but secretly all she can think about is the fact that the reading of Bart's will is only a few hours away.

* * *

TBC. Make sure to check out my new one shot "Judge Away" if you haven't already!


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Sorry for the major wait on this chapter-the finale spoilers and then seeing CJ play out in front of me killed my inspiration for a while, but CB found their way back to me like always. Have one more chapter planned for this story after this one, so enjoy while it lasts.

* * *

**Sunday Afternoon—Where There's a Will, There's a Fight**

"So" Chuck begins, drawing a pattern on her naked shoulder with his finger.

"So" Blair echoes, her face happily nestled into the crook of his neck.

They just finished eating breakfast but neither was in any rush to move from their current position.

"I think you should call Dorota and ask her to bring over some fresh clothes today" he tells her.

"_Clothes_" Blair admonishes "we don't need clothes to spend a rainy day inside, do we?"

"No, not if we stay inside" Chuck tells her "but I want to take you to see the ducks today, rain or not. It's what you wanted."

Blair could feel her heart begin to pound harder in her chest with every word he spoke. This suite, once a prison, has become a sort of safe-haven for the two of them now.

In here, it was easy to believe that the world outside didn't matter. It may have only been just over a day since Chuck let her back into his life, but the progress they've made has been monumental.

But Blair knows she can't let the safety she feels in Chuck's arms deter her from the fact that if Chuck doesn't attend the reading of his father's will, he would live to regret it. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but years down the road, this lack of closure would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"While I do love the ducks" she tells him "I was sort of just thinking of a way to get you outside."

She has more to say, much more. The trepidation in her voice is palpable.

"There's actually something else I think we should do" Blair says quietly "something more important."

"I see" Chuck says, waiting for her to continue.

The tracing of her shoulder has since stopped.

Blair can hear the wheels in his head churning. Surely he won't make her say it out loud.

"Well?" he asks, his whole body tensing.

"Chuck, please. You _know_" she says as she leans back to look at him "your father's—"

He doesn't let her finish. He jumps up and grabs his pants.

"Is this why you came?" he snaps, pulling his clothes back on "did that_ whore_ send you here to get me?"

"God, Chuck no!" Blair tells him, hugging the covers to her chest.

"Is this a lie? Has _all_ this been a lie?" he demands, motioning between them.

Blair shakes her head so hard her brown hair hits her in the face.

"No, of course not" she cries, tears falling down her cheeks "you have to believe me, Chuck, I'd never…"

"Never what? _Use_ me?" he accuses, all but leering at her.

"Do you think I planned this? That I knew _this_ would happen?" she asks.

She takes a deep breath.

"I mean, maybe I should have known somewhere deep down because it's you and me and whether we like it or not…_this _seems to happen whenever we're together. But…"

Hesitantly, Blair climbs out of bed completely nude and stands in front of him.

"But Chuck, I would _never _use you. The only agenda I had in coming over here was making sure you were okay. Because I know you weren't and I couldn't bear it if you hurt yourself" she tells him.

He turns his head away from her, unsure of what to believe anymore.

"I'm here because I want you to heal. I don't want you to hurt, but I can't sit back and watch you pretend that Bart didn't die either" she tells him.

She watches as he closes his eyes. He's trying so hard to ignore her words, but she can't let him.

Because then all this would be for nothing.

Boldly, Blair approaches him and wraps her arms around his neck.

"I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't think you were strong enough to handle it" she cries.

"Blair…"

"But you are strong, Charles. I know you are. And I do care what anyone else has to say about you, because I know you better than you know yourself even if you don't want me to" she vows.

_And I fucking love you._

Chuck turns his head to look at her. His expression would be nearly unreadable to anyone but her.

But because Blair is Blair, she understands that she has made a convincing argument and that Chuck is coming with her.

She kisses him softly but firmly as she presses her whole body against his. She silently thanks the gods in the sky when she feels him reciprocate her affection.

"We go, we get my inheritance, and we leave" he tells her tersely.

"Done" Blair says.

"And I don't want to talk to that woman. And I don't want her to talk to me."

"Okay" she nods.

Xoxoxoxoxoxox

At eleven o'clock on the dot, Chuck and Blair find themselves hand in hand in the waiting area of the Conference room across from a somber Lillian Bass.

She had made the move to greet them when they first arrived, but beyond a gracious yet silent acknowledgement from Blair, Lily understands Charles' wishes for silence.

Moments later, they are ushered into the main room where the reading of the will is to take place.

For the most part, Blair is feeling confident about the reading. While convincing Chuck to attend was difficult, now that they are here things will hopefully run smoothly.

"Since both of your biological parents are deceased, Lillian Bass has agreed to become your legal guardian until you turn eighteen. Do you have any objections to this?" Mr. Michaels asks.

"I don't suppose I really have any choice in the matter" Chuck says disgruntled.

"He accepts" Blair translates with a nod.

"Very well" Mr. Michaels says.

And then something quite unexpected happens. A letter from Bart is pulled out of Mr. Michael's folder and is presented to Chuck

"Bart wrote this?" Blair asks as she takes the letter that is being offered to an unreceptive Chuck.

"Yes, to be read by his son upon the incident of his death" Mr. Michaels repeats for her.

"Do I have to?" comes Chuck's petulant response.

"I suppose not" Mr. Michaels says

"No, of course he does" Blair says immediately, turning to Chuck "Of course you do. Why wouldn't you?"

Chuck looks down at the letter Blair is holding out to him.

"I just can't imagine it's anything good" he tells her honestly.

"You'll never know until you read it" Blair says.

"Charles if you're not ready…" Lily begins.

"Don't tell me what to do" Chuck bites out, opening the letter in retaliation.

As he looks down to read it, Blair shares a sympathetic look with Lily over his head.

"I…I don't believe it" Chuck says after a few minutes.

Automatically expecting the worst, Blair places a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"Chuck I'm so…"

"He wants me to run Bass Industries" Chuck rasps "The company…it's mine."

"That's incredible" Blair tells him, shocked beyond belief.

"Is it?" he asks, tossing the letter on the desk in front of him "Eighteen years of no respect, no emotion, no encouragement and suddenly I'm Son of the Year?"

"Chuck" Blair says.

"No, it's true. He spent my whole life calling me a screw-up he could never trust and now he wants me to run his whole empire? What the hell was he thinking? What is he trying to prove?" he asks no one in particular.

"I…" Blair tries to say.

"We're done here, yes?" Chuck asks the man behind the desk "I get my inheritance when I turn eighteen and then I'm free?"

"Technically yes" Mr. Michaels says.

"Then I'm out of here" Chuck says as he makes his way to the door.

"Chuck wait" Blair cries out as she hurries after him.

Chuck manages to get a decent head start and is already walking into the Gilt Bar by the time Blair catches up with him in her high heels.

"Scotch on the rocks" Chuck barks.

"You're drinking again?" Blair asks "I thought…"

"You thought wrong" he tells her, staring at his glass for a moment before downing the whole drink.

"You think you need to drink to deal with this, but alcohol won't make your problems go away" Blair says.

"Maybe not, but at least it's something I can control" he says, ordering another.

"How?" she asks.

"Oh please Blair, you of all people should know that the only way to gain control is to lose it" Chuck says, throwing back another drink "Hell I've seen you relapse enough times—"

"Stop!" she all but shouts "Why are you doing this to yourself? Your father _believed _in you Chuck. He believed in you like I believe in you now."

"Well you shouldn't. It's just a matter of time before I screw everything up. This whole thing is a test—he just wants me to fail, even from the grave like the sick bastard he is" Chuck tells her.

"And with that attitude, you will fail" Blair says "but it doesn't have to be that way."

She puts her hand on his shoulder but he quickly shrugs it off.

"Look, maybe you should go" Chucks says "I just want to be alone."

"Like back to the room?" Blair asks.

"No, like leave the hotel. Your job is done here anyways" he says before bringing another glass to his lips.

"But…but I haven't" Blair stumbles.

Chuck laughs cruelly.

"What? _Saved _me? Don't you get it Blair? You_ can't_ save me. We can play house and pretend everything's fine, but the truth is I'm just too fucked up to be fixed by you. So go and save yourself. Cause I'm a lost cause with nothing to gain."

A single tear rolls down Blair's cheek as his words sink in.

"But I fucking love you" she whispers through the tears.

Chuck doesn't look at her. Or respond. He just takes another drink.

"And you're a coward" she says.

Slowly, Blair turns in her heels and walks away—not stopping until she's back in her own bedroom.

It is only then when she allows herself to fall apart.

* * *

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

Sunday Night: **Moving On**

"Save yourself" Blair says out-loud to her reflection "Save. Yourself."

If she had the will power, she would rip the mirror off her bathroom wall and shatter it into a million pieces.

She has been standing in the same place since she got home that afternoon, unable to move or do anything productive.

"What's wrong with you?" she asks herself.

Not him, no-her. She's trying to figure how what's wrong with her. What is so repulsive, so vulgar, so unseemly that not even Chuck Bass can stand the sight of her.

No matter what Blair does or how hard she tries-she just can't seem to get anyone to stay with her. She get's left behind and traded up for leggy blondes, male models, slutty step-moms and fine liquor.

And she's damn tired of it.

She's standing by the toilet and she know she can do it. It-she can gain control by losing it, just like he said she's done and know she will again-and though the temptation is there, Blair knows now (somehow) that forcing herself to throw up won't solve a damn thing.

Some people say Blair Waldorf is selfish and she is. She taught herself to be selfish because she knew that if she didn't look out for her best interest, no one else was going to do it for her.

Some also say she's greedy. That's true too. She takes whatever she's given and clings to it like a vice because she knows how easily things (and people) can be taken away from her.

And loneliness has always been her biggest fear.

They also say she's a bitch-let them. Let them think she's unbreakable, constant, unwavering. Let them think whatever they want as long as they don't know the truth-how weak she really is.

Somewhere along the way, Blair forgot about her own best interest and managed to let Chuck slither his way into her heart. And now, she's all about him-always.

So when he looks her dead in the eye and tells her to go save herself, what he was really doing was telling her to go fuck off-because nothing could ever hurt her more than being dismissed by someone she loves.

But Blair will not be broken. Not again. Not anymore.

"Dorota" she calls as she exists her bathroom "go get the bread, we're going to the park."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Chief Executive Officer.

Chuck Bartholomew Bass.

CEO. CBB.

The initials don't add up and neither does his father's letter.

And yet somehow, Chuck has it in his hands-an actual letter, hand-written and signed by deceased daddy-dearest himself.

"This isn't me. This makes no sense" he mumbles.

It's all he's said since Blair left. First he told the other patrons at the bar, then he moved on to telling the bartender, and then a little while later the security escort bringing him back to his room got the same mantra.

_This makes no sense._

Nothing as of late in his life has made sense. He couldn't contemplate his father's untimely death or why after never knowing his mother, he would lose his father on the brink of making amends.

And then there's Blair. Blair loving him and seeking him out and making love to him...until he pushed her away.

"Why did I do it?" he rasps out loud to an empty suite, stretching himself out on his unmade bed that still smelled like their morning activities.

Being with Blair in any sense of the world was never supposed to make sense-what happened in his limo so many moons ago was just supposed to be a freak accident. Blair accidentally kissed him once, then twice, and then she was on top of him and he was inside of her. All an accident.

Blair loving him even slightly didn't make sense.

And yet, somehow...

"_But I fucking love you" _

Her words blare in his head like the worst kind of hangover.

Blare. _Blair. _

"Blair" he groans, rolling to press his face into the pillow that smells like her hair "Fuck, I'm such a fuck-up."

He repeats these muffled words into the pillow until there's only one thing left for him to say.

_Save me._

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

"Ducks are dependable" Blair states, tossing stale bread at her feet "They aren't afraid to admit they need your help or take what you so selflessly offer them when they need it."

Dorota is sitting on the bench some twenty feet behind Blair, guarding her personal effects as she watches Blair meticulously feed every duck in sight.

"They are strong enough to know it's okay to not be brave all the time. It's okay to be afraid as long as you own up to it" Blair continues, progressively using more force with each snap of her wrist-to the point that she's almost pelting the bread bits at the ducks.

Dorota momentarily considers interjecting on the innocent animals behalves before she feels Blair's purse vibrate the bench she's sitting on.

"Miss Blair, phone for you!" Dorota calls as she begins to rifle through the Birkin bag.

"Who is it?" Blair asks, never wavering from her job at hand "And don't you dare say Mister-"

"Mister Chuck" Dorota reports sadly "I'm sorry Miss Blair."

Then Dorota holds out the phone to her as if Blair is even going to entertain the idea of talking to him.

"Unless you plan on using that phone as a hand weight, I suggest you put it down, Dorota" Blair tells her as she turns back around "You arm may get tired."

"Whatever Mister Chuck did, must be very bad for Miss Blair to let go to voicemail" Dorota points out.

"That coward is too much of a coward to leave a message" Blair tells her.

Just then, a jolly noise came from Blair's phone.

"New voicemail, Miss Blair" Dorota says "Maybe you are wrong."

Blair shrugs as if she couldn't care less.

"It's probably just some drunken ramble that's not worth listening to" Blair says, despite holding out her hand expectantly.

Dorota frowns at the gesture.

"Well?" Blair asks "I'm not getting any younger here."

With eyes bulging, Dorota hops up and runs the phone over to Blair.

As casually as possible, Blair dials her voicemail number and brings the phone to her ear.

She tries to ignore the sound of her heart pounding in her ears as the automated voice tells her to dial her four number password.

0-5-1-9

"Mother-chucker" she whispers into the receiver.

"_Blair? I'm not surprised you didn't pick up-I wouldn't have picked up. I mean, I was an asshole to you and you didn't deserve it. I'm just...it's scary to be all alone, you know? I've always felt alone but now Bart's really gone and it's just...it's just a matter of time before I lose you too. And I don't want you hurt, so I tried to cut you loose...and now I'm just a coward on a rooftop looking down on a city that doesn't belong to me anymore. And I just-END OF NEW MESSAGE."_

Dorota's eyes don't leave Blair's face as dread slowly passes over her features.

"Miss Blair?" she asks.

"He's on a roof" Blair tells her "I think he's...I don't..."

Dorota's bulging eyes are hanging on her every word.

"What is it?" she asks.

"I know where he is" Blair says definitively, handing Dorota the bread bag.

She starts to walk away until Dorota calls out to her, asking her where she is going.

"To save him" Blair calls back "once and for all."

xoxoxoxoxo

"Please don't be too late" she whispers to herself over and over again as she runs up the stairs to Victrola's roof access.

She's been replaying the image of a depressed Chuck in her head, standing on the edge, contemplating jumping...but that wasn't an option.

Being too late wasn't an option.

"Chuck" she yells as she pushes the heavy metal door open.

Much to her relief, she finds that Chuck isn't standing on the edge at all-he's merely leaning against it, looking out onto the horizon.

He turns around at the sound of his name, completely shocked to see her there.

"How did you know where to find me?" he asks when she comes closer.

"Because I know _you_, stupid" Blair tells him as she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him.

"Victrola is like a glorified tree house you hide in whenever things don't go your way" she says when she pulls back.

"It's the only place everything's made sense before" he says, pressing his forehead to hers.

"I thought you were gonna hurt yourself" Blair says with tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry" Chuck says as he buries his face in her neck "I'm so sorry."

"Chuck I can't do this anymore" she tells him "I love you and I want to be with you, but I can't stand still any longer."

"I know, you're right. But I'm scared about what comes next. I don't want to fail or disappoint you" he says.

"And you think I do?" Blair asks, lifting his head to look at her "Chuck I'm scared too, I'm scared all the time. But nothing scares me more than the idea of sitting back and watching you self destruct until there's nothing left."

"I plan on going places in life, Chuck" she tells him.

"You will-you already are" he says.

"And when I do" Blair continues "I want you there with me."

Chuck sighs, dropping his arms and taking a step away from her.

"I don't know if I have what it takes to run Bass Industries" he confesses.

"That company belongs to you, Chuck. Business is in your blood. And I'll help you, whatever it takes. I promise. I know you can do this" she says.

"I may fail" he says.

"If you fail, I fail. We'll figure it out, like we always have" Blair tells him.

She turns his shoulders around so that they're both facing the sunset falling over Manhattan.

"See that? That's our city" she says, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder "And one day you and I are gonna rule it."

Chuck closes his eyes and coves her arms with his.

"Do you promise? he whispers.

"With every fiber of my being" Blair says, sealing her vow with a kiss on his neck.

They stayed like that, in each other's arms, until the whole city (their city) was cloaked in darkness. Afterwards, Chuck and Blair left the rooftop hand in hand, ready for whatever life had waiting for them.

And they would win.

FIN.

* * *

AN: Thank you so very much from the bottom of my heart for all your support on this story guys. As always, your words of encouragement took a small idea I had and helped me take it places I never would have gone on my own.


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